


touch me here where some days it hurts

by loveroflou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Feelings, Feminine Harry, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Stress Relief, UHHH idk what this is, it was supposed to be fluffy I swear, this is the equivalent of a doodle with how messy it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 13:47:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30106908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveroflou/pseuds/loveroflou
Summary: They’re close enough now that he can faintly smell the coconut milk of Louis’ shampoo, and he reaches his fingers out to brush Louis’ chestnut fringe to the side when it falls into his eyes.Louis nuzzles into his hand, his face creasing into something pained like maybe Harry being his good girl isn’t quite enough.So he says, “Sorry I did that,” without reason, retracting his hand, and what he means issorry I can’t be what you need.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 29
Kudos: 79





	touch me here where some days it hurts

**Author's Note:**

> i think wasting a good phrase for a title of a tiny little thing is a crime but i’m keeping it because i hate myself
> 
> yeah i’ve been on writer’s block for days and i wrote this in thirty minutes and guess what it’s not read over so if you find any mistakes no you didn’t
> 
> i’ve been in a shit mood for a little while now, too much bad news and too many shitty people still ignoring the goddamn pandemic like we haven’t been in lockdown for a year. if you haven’t been wearing your mask do me a favour and exit out of here i don’t want you anywhere near me
> 
> title is from a [poem](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/151504/your-shadow-invents-you-every-time-light-fails-to-pass-through-you) that punches me in the face every time i read it. i wrote a little thing based on it like i did with [bwthoap](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29222286) but i don’t think it’s seeing the light of day anytime soon. maybe if one day i get around to finishing and editing it i’ll post it we’ll see

The grass blades squished underneath the naked soles of their feet are soggy.

Harry’s clothes are still wet from when Louis pushed him into the too-cold river, and he curls his toes, long fingers curling in the grass as he shivers. Louis blinks crinkled, glossy eyes at him, his mouth stretched in a wide smile, and Harry feels his lips tug up in something gentler, something fond.

He wants to reach out and touch, always wants to be touching him, trace the tips of his fingers over Louis’ soft, tan skin just to feel. Instead, he flicks his gaze to the fireflies dotting the vibrant green grass on the other side of the river and exhales a shaky breath.

His checkered skirt is wrinkled and sticking to his bare thighs, and when Louis smooths it out, touch careful and lingering for shorter than Harry’d like, Harry holds his breath.

He’s discarded his white, semi-sheer blouse on top of the pile of Louis’ clothes, and his bra is tight and uncomfortable with the heaviness of the water, but he refuses to pull it off.

“My hair is ruined now,” he says to Louis, just because he wants to tell him. He can feel the chocolate ringlets straight and dripping down the line of his back like a leaky faucet. “You’re washing it for me when we get home.”

Louis hums easily, raising his knee up to his chest to push his cheek against it. Harry wonders how his boxers are managing to keep him warm. “With the strawberry shampoo?”

It’s easy conversation, and it’s pointless. They’ll be too sleepy to bathe when they get home, and they’ll fall asleep in the same bed like they tend to do on the nights they spend by the river.

Harry tilts his head anyway, in something that’s not quite consideration. Louis already knows what he’s going to say. “With the coconut milk scented one,” he murmurs finally, feeling Louis’ blue eyes on his flushing cheeks.

The sky is too dark, only the odd specks of stars interrupting the inky blue. Louis insists it’s black, and Harry tells him it isn’t.

When Louis touches a finger over his knuckles he startles with a muted gasp, turning large green eyes to him and catching his bottom lip between his teeth.

Louis’ eyebrows are furrowed. Despite their closeness, it’s not bright enough for Harry to see the freckles dotting the bridge of his nose, and something in his chest aches.

It feels like longing.

“You’re shivering,” Louis whispers, letting go of Harry’s hand to let his fingers hover hesitantly over the side of his body, just above where the bottom edge of the strawberry milk pink of the bra presses against his skin.

Harry nods, even though he hadn’t realised, and somehow stops himself from pushing Louis’ hand away and climbing into his lap. “Yeah.” He pauses. “Don’t want to go back, though.”

Going back means taking a sharp pin and bursting the little bubble he lets himself slip into when Louis takes his hand and guides him excitedly to the other side of the village. Going back also means that Louis will press him to the trunk of the lone, old tree and kiss him, just a soft press of their lips that’ll turn desperate too quickly when Harry whimpers into his mouth, his lipstick tinting Louis’ lips just a shade darker, and they won’t talk about it come morning.

He wants to sit with him like more than friends for a little longer before he gets his kiss.

“Okay,” Louis says quietly, leaning to the side to grope at the sleeve of his jacket. He snatches it with a triumphant, too adorable squeak that makes Harry smile, and then he’s settling back comfortably next to Harry with a self-satisfied grin and a soft, “Come closer.”

Harry lets him guide his hands into the dry sleeves and zip the zipper up without protesting, just melts under Louis’ hands, distantly thankful that Louis thought to take it off before jumping after Harry into the water. They’re close enough now that he can faintly smell the coconut milk of Louis’ shampoo, and he reaches his fingers out to brush Louis’ chestnut fringe to the side when it falls into his eyes.

Louis nuzzles into his hand, his face creasing into something pained like maybe Harry being his good girl isn’t quite enough.

So he says, “Sorry I did that,” without reason, retracting his hand, and what he means is _sorry I can’t be what you need._

He has half a mind to tighten his bra just enough that it’ll leave bruises if he keeps it on for too long.

The fireflies are brighter now when Harry looks back at them, and they remind him of the first time Louis cradled his face with small hands and kissed him. He remembers being kissed because Louis had decided that that’s how you show someone you love them; it’s what he told him when they were only little boys whose biggest concerns were their mums not letting them have chocolate before dinner.

Harry had listened carefully, his large doe eyes trusting and mind keeping the words tucked safely because Louis has said them, and everything that Louis said was important and right.

He wishes to remind him on nights like these. When, from the corners of Harry’s eyes, he sees Louis’ hand reaching for his own and then hesitating for a long, long moment before falling limp by his side again.

Sometimes he wonders if it would be cruel to hold him when Louis presses apologies to Harry’s mouth at too late at night when he wakes up teary eyed and hollow with the shadow of his dad’s words sucking the colour from his face or if it’s maybe what he should do.

 _“You’re not ruining the good in me,”_ Harry wants to tell him, press it in the soft corner of his mouth in hopes that it’ll seep under his skin. “ _I know what he told you and it’s not true. You’re not defiling my innocence. I_ want _you. I want this with_ you. _It’s okay if you’re a boy who likes kissing other boys.”_

“I talked to Mum,” Louis starts shakily out of nowhere, refusing to catch Harry’s eyes when Harry turns to him again even though he must feel the weight of his gaze on the side of his face. “About you. About – us.”

It’s not anything Harry was expecting. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “She said – well, a lot of things. I don’t remember most of it because I was crying the whole time.”

Harry feels his eyes widen in silent surprise as Louis chuckles self-deprecatingly, and he’s not really sure if this is a good or a bad thing.

He must say it out loud, because Louis’ quick to reassure, “It was good. It was – I needed it.”

Tugging at a handful of grass, he breathes in shakily and starts again. “I know I’m bad at like, the feelings thing. And that you deserve someone who’s not. Messed up,” he breathes in a nearly inaudible whisper, “but I just – I was wondering if you wanted – want – to try? With me?”

“Try what?” Harry asks softly, because he can’t hope. He knows he can’t hope and yet he can feel it; small, scared yearning bubbling up in his chest and the tips of his fingers, hot like too warm honey.

It burns, only a little. He thinks he might cry.

The word must be too big, still too scary, because Louis’ mouth falls open and shut again one too many times before he finally settles on, hesitantly, “Being more? If you still want that. If you don’t, then that’s–”

“I do want that,” Harry promises, settling a hand on Louis’ trembling one where he’s pulling at the grass to steady him.

Somehow, he looks surprised. “You do?”

The light of the fireflies dims, and Harry wonders if they’re sad too. He nods. “Of course, I do. Want whatever you want to give me. How’d you convince your silly little self that I don’t?”

Louis’ hand twitches under his touch, and his shoulders droop as he relaxes, if only the tiniest bit. “’M not little,” is what he ends up saying.

Harry pushes his thumb in the space between Louis’ middle and pointer fingers. “No,” he agrees, “you’re not. Can’t be. You’ve got the whole universe inside of you.”

Something in Louis’ face goes fond, and Harry can breathe again. The honey in his chest doesn’t burn anymore.

“Do I?” he asks, soft and sweet, a hint of a smile kissing the corner of his mouth.

“You’re shivering,” Harry says instead of answering, but he does give him a tiny nod. Louis’ lips break into a grin, and Harry smiles when he rolls his eyes. “Let’s go home.”

(When they come back one too many years later, the river’s dried up and the fireflies are gone. But Louis still presses him to the old tree and kisses him, and the bright red lipstick prints Harry kisses to his jaw feel like safety.)

**Author's Note:**

> i don’t have anything to say this time if this is too much of a disaster tell me and i’ll delete it if i remember to. stay at home and wear your masks and tell the people you love that you love them


End file.
